Tuesday, July 22, 2008

How to love a prodigal - part 1

How to love a prodigal - part 1

One of the first things that happens in a prodigal situation, a moment in which a child emotionally, spiritually, mentally or physically runs away from home is that a moral chasm is opened. I'm not talking about the obvious gulf that exists between parent and child in this situation. The separation of geographical distance, age or ideas. I'm taking about the distance between wrong and right, good and evil, clean and dirty.

What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.

I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.

Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.

How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?

You share your junk.

You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.

That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:

1. You earn life currency.

Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.

2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.

3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.

This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.

Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.

How to love a prodigal - part 1

One of the first things that happens in a prodigal situation, a moment in which a child emotionally, spiritually, mentally or physically runs away from home is that a moral chasm is opened. I'm not talking about the obvious gulf that exists between parent and child in this situation. The separation of geographical distance, age or ideas. I'm taking about the distance between wrong and right, good and evil, clean and dirty.

What happens is that even though you might not try to do this, it's often tempting to live your life better when your son or daughter leaves the farm so to speak. To be a brighter light of God and Christian values and truth and peace. To show them more clearly the things they are missing by their voluntary decision to leave the safety of your home. You can see this in communication styles. I am sarcastic and if someone does not respond to that, I just get more and more sarcastic. What was a tiny distance becomes huge as they back away further and I keep going and going, thinking that more of the thing that has separated us will fix the separation.

I think that is noble in a way, but it does the opposite of what we intend. We think it will make the mistakes they are making easier to see. That it will shine a light on their situation. But it doesn't always do that. Like the silence of a church sanctuary amplifies the loudness of a cell phone ring, the righteousness of your behavior sometimes makes the wrongness of your child bigger.

Instead of closing the gap between us, it actually makes it greater. It stretches the distance further and further as the parent comes to represent the good and the child comes to represent the bad. Sides are drawn with more distinction instead of less and the gap grows exponentially.

How do you sidestep this? You might not be able to instantly close the distance between you in this moment, but how do you at the bare minimum keep it from earthquaking open even more?

You share your junk.

You tell your story. The good parts, the bad parts, the beautiful parts, the ugly parts. You fight the urge to simply multiply your good qualities as a parent and instead do the opposite. You confess your faults. You confess your own trash and share the grossness of your own life with your child.

That might feel like the opposite of what you should do. That might be exactly what a million books on parenting tell you. The only research I am pulling from is my own life and the lives of dozens of prodigals I know. But here is what happens when you share your junk in the middle of a prodigal story:

1. You earn life currency.

Even if you've been a horrible parent and are in no position to be labeled as the good one in this story, there is still going to be an amazing amount of guilt your child is dealing with right now. They will think you could never understand what they are going through or why they are making the decisions they are making. By sharing your story, you show them that you speak their language too. And that you are not perfect.

2. You close the gap a little.
You can't instantly eliminate the gap and maintain some healthy boundaries that actually teach your child the impact of consequences. But you can take small steps toward them by admitting your own weaknesses. You take subtle steps from the "good side" of the situation and take powerful steps toward the "honest side" of the situation when you talk openly. It's like deliberately tearing down the white wall of righteousness that grew tall the minute they left. And if they have legitimate reasons for leaving because of your hurtful actions, it gives you the space to confess what you've done wrong.

3. You remove the "inventor's curse."
I think I made this term up so it requires some explanation. When we mess up, we are immediately inflicted by the "inventor's curse." This is that little voice inside us that says, "No one has ever failed like this. No one has ever done something so wrong. You are the only one in the world that struggles with this." And so your child sits alone, on an island, weighed down heavy by the inventor's curse. Sharing your junk with them puts you on that island with them and destroys the inventor's curse.

This idea is difficult to execute because you don't want to be the parent that says, "I smoked pot too when I was in college. No big deal. Party on!" You have to be hyper careful that what you share is not romanticized by your words or made light of. And you have to be very smart about what you choose to share. This is not a full disclosure moment, a husband being honest with a wife. You have to make sure that in your confession you do not simply hand them something heavy to hold. The last thing a prodigal child needs is to now wrestle with the weight of some deep dark secret you carried for decades. You are not confessing to be free of something, you are confessing to share something.

Counselors and people that are trained are so much smarter than I am when it comes to this stuff. And I can't speak highly enough of the four I have seen in the last 10 years. But if you're not ready to see a counselor yet, hopefully you are ready to read a blog and maybe wrestle with the problem of the prodigal in a slightly different way.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The lady in the corner.

The lady in the corner.

One of the greatest benefits of writing a blog is that you get to hear some really beautiful stories. The other day, I wrote a post about how there are essentially three types of pastors' wives. It will a silly little post, with very little grit to it, but one comment really surprised me. I wanted to share it with you.

I had an English pastor's wife growing up. I think she went to some dark and gloomy boarding school that taught courses like Missionary Tea Parties and Slamming Certain People Without Ever Cussing. She was 4 feet nothing and whenever we'd have a sleep over with her daughters, she wore heeled slippers late at night, in case someone came over and saw how short she was. All I wanted to say was "Lady, you're a hobbit, get over it." She was as tough as nails and as kind as a Queen.

The event that sealed her "scary wonderfulness" in my mind was her daughter's birthday party. It was the very early 1970's. We were a noisy crowd of happy little girls who were giddy and squealing. But in the corner sat an older woman none of us knew. She just sat and smiled at us, and then she'd look out the window to somewhere far away. I asked my friend's mom/The aforementioned Pastor's Wife who this woman was and why she just watched us. My friend's mom replied, "well, she just wanted to be around us at the party, to enjoy all the fun we're having." I smiled and said "Oh".

Then years later I realized WHY this woman was allowed to sit quietly and just observe some happy children. I noticed at the party that she had big numbers written all down her arm, but I didn't realized until I was older that they weren't written in pen, they were tattoos.

And my very first Pastor's Wife had allowed this lonely, childless mother to spend time in the company of happy, healthy children.

I have yet to see that level of suffering in the 38 years since. Or that level of kindness.

It's funny when it happens, but sometimes people show you the most perfectly simple, perfectly stunning ways to live out your faith. Thank you JennyM.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

One more reason I should be a cheesy minister.

One more reason I should be a cheesy minister.

The other day someone asked me about making fun of the church. I told them I didn't think I was making fun of the church. I feel like my mission is to clear away the debris that sometimes presents us from seeing the beauty of faith. Whether that means silly products, old thought patterns or a million other things, I think there is great power when we can collectively identify and discuss the things that sometimes stand between us and the core of our relationships with Christ. We might not agree, but we can at least open up some discussion.

Another reason I don't feel like I am punching the church is that the target of most of my finger pointing is me. Things I have struggled with, things that tangle me and trip me, stupid things I do. That is hopefully what is on parade more than anything else. And I want to do that today.

What I am going to tell you is the kind of thing I would usually tease. It's just kind of cheesy but for so long I've been a Christian snob, throwing little rocks at ideas that don't fit my definition of "cool," whatever that is.

So here's my idea. Last night while mowing the lawn, I was mentally writing a post in my head. I kept asking God, "why." Why am I writing this post? Why am I sharing personal stuff? Why am I doing it? As a former Journalism major, it's part of the 5 Ws (Who, What, When, Where and Why.) I think those are good questions to ask, but sometimes I obsess on them, demanding a clear answer from God like I'm a petulant child.

I felt like in between lines in the lawn He responded with, "Let me worry about the 5 Ws. You focus on the one M." I said, "What M? What one M are you talking about?" And He replied, "Me."

There are times when I get details and times when I don't. I didn't get an answer to my "why" last night, but I did get a reminder, although perhaps cheesy, about what matters more.

God is where my focus needs to be. The one M.

Monday, July 14, 2008

That's pretend, right?

That's pretend, right?

It rained today for a few hours and it felt weird because we haven't had a ton of that in the last year in Georgia. We've had some off and on showers, but we've been struggling with a drought that has robbed our lakes and placed several water bans on our neighborhoods.

The weird thing is that until you don't get any rain, you take it for granted. You just expect that it will happen. That is what naturally happens. Water falls from the sky, clouds open up, flowers and trees and birds get a drink. But when you don't have rain, when it just stops for a week or a month or a year, you suddenly realize how much you've been taking it for granted.

The other day, my daughter dropped a child-sized nuclear bomb on me that reminded me of something else I have taken for granted.

We were looking at a book on storms, something she loves right now, and came to a page about drought and famine. In the corner of the page was a little boy from Ethiopia. He was starving, with ribs sticking out and flies covering his small face. I kept flipping the pages but L.E. made me stop and return to that one. She asked, "What's that?" I told her, "That's a little boy that doesn't have enough food to eat. He is poor." She thought for a few seconds and then responded, "That's not real though. That's pretend right?"

This simple question floored me. In her mind, deep within the truth that is the heart of a four year old, she could literally not fathom a child ever being hungry. The idea that someone would starve did not make any sense. Death by poverty did not register with her. She thought it was unreal.

I confess that I take poverty for granted. I flipped right by that photo without registering even the faintest emotion I throw at ABC's Extreme Home Makeover. I act like poverty is natural. That starving is just something that happens. That kids without food is the way the world is.

But maybe it's not. Maybe when Christ said he wants us to have the faith of a child, this is exactly what He was talking about. That it is unacceptable for a child to starve to death. That it is not right or natural for another human being to die of a preventable disease or a mosquito bite or water that is polluted.

I support a few charities and tonight I registered a new website, unrealpoverty.com. There is nothing up right now and I don't know if I will ever be able to do anything with it. But if things continue to go the way they are going and people to continue to build a community around the conversations we are having online, maybe someday I'll get to start a charity. Maybe someday I won't take poverty for granted. Maybe someday I'll help make it unreal.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

The bottles that come back.

The bottles that come back.

I think I've mentioned before that my fear about the great opportunities that the site Stuff Christians Like is opening up is that I'll waste everything. That I won't manage it the right way or maintain it the right way and the whole thing will just fall apart.

When I told my counselor Chuck that a few weeks ago, he said that I should stop worrying. He said that "God doesn't waste anything. He doesn't work that way. He uses everything to His purposes and if you feel like you could waste it that means you feel like you created it and you're not God."

That was a very freeing thing to hear. That in essence gave me permission to enjoy it rather than try to maintain it. To take part in the accidental community that is developing right now instead of trying to hold on to it.

I think that one of the reasons I was worried about wasting things is that it seems like we rarely get to see the way God uses what He calls us to do. Certainly a mission trip has very visible results. You can see that a child was fed, a mother was comforted, a baby was clothed. But often, it feels like God calls us to do something for Him and we do, and it's like a note we put into a bottle and then promptly throw into the ocean of life.

That guy at work He calls us to reach out to switches jobs and we never hear from him again. The neighbor we walk through a divorce moves to another town and disappears. Our prayers for people line the shore like a thousand bottles floating away from us without resolution or closure.
But sometimes they come back to us. Sometimes, God blesses us with the gift of knowing exactly how He used what we do for Him. And that can be a very beautiful thing.

The other night, I shared a story my counselor had told me on my site, 97secondswithgod.com. It was a short story about how God loves when we wrestle with Him because it's impossible to wrestle with someone far away. We feel guilty about it, because we think we should trust instead of wrestle but He sees it as a sign of intimacy.

Here is what a reader said on my site in response:

Jon, my wife has stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, and it looks like she's entering the beginning of the end. As you might imagine, I've been wrestling with God quite a bit lately.

When I read your words just now I broke down and cried because the guilt, frustration, fear and anger were instantly replaced by the image of a loving God. Thank you so much.

God is weird. A man I've never met, in Oregon, a state I've never been to, dealing with a disease I've never dealt with, got the bottle he needed. I threw it out into the ocean and God sent it across the country.

That's how He works. It's not my talent or anything I'm doing that matters. What matters is that I throw out the bottles. He wants them. He wants us to throw them out even if we can't begin to imagine how He will use them.

So today, let's throw some bottles.